


A Stupid Pun About Shorts

by MaryPSue



Series: Reincarnation Blues [5]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Transcendence, F/M, Gen, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 01:31:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7020010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryPSue/pseuds/MaryPSue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from the world of Reincarnation Blues that weren't long or in-depth enough to warrant their own fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The aspens open up before him, their too-green foliage hissing secrets, their blackened eyes staring balefully as Ian drifts through the dreaming woods. They seem familiar, somehow, like a snippet of song from a distant childhood, slightly off-key from the memory. He’s been here before. Maybe in a past life. Maybe just in a past dream.

But because he’s been here before, he knows where this trail is leading him. And he knows who he’ll find waiting for him when the woods part, whose single eye will be watching when he steps out of the trees -

“Wait, this is backwards,” Ian says to his mirror image, whose smile slowly fades. “Why am _I_  the triangle?”

His double shrugs, a look of unease crossing his pale pink face. “I thought you were here to taunt me and torment me with how similar and inseparable we are.”

“What? No, that’s _your_  job, this is _my -”_ Ian stops, smacks a hand to his - well, he’d usually call it his forehead, but he guesses right now it’s just a two-dimensional plane. “Of course. Of course, it figures.”

His doppelganger turns in a circle, keeping Ian in sight as Ian floats around the perimeter of the clearing, inspecting the construction of the dream. It’s pretty solid, but he can see where the right lever could crack it wide open. 

“What are you talking about? This is _my_  dream!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re technically right, now shh.” Ian crosses his arms over his…surface?…and considers. “I don’t have time for this existential-dilemma nightmare baloney, I’ve got a big meeting tomorrow morning with the network and I’ve gotta be in peak mental condition. How about this instead?”

He snaps his fingers. The forest shakes, the ground trembling as something massive pounds into it. The woods fill with a distant roaring.

The look of fear mingled with confused innocence slips off of Ian’s double’s face, replaced with pants-shitting terror. “You thought a _T-rex_  would be _better_?”

“If you start running now, you might wake up before it catches you!” Ian says, brightly. His double glares at him.

“You can mess with this dream? You could’ve made it anything, why another nightmare?” He freezes, with a look of realisation crossing his face before that frightened innocence overtakes it again. “If you’re really supposed to be me -”

“Eesh, cut that crap out,” Ian sighs, as another bellowing roar cuts through the pensive silence, much closer this time. “This is a chasing nightmare now! Better get running!”

His doppelganger shoots another glare in Ian’s direction, before taking off into the trees.

…

Ian sits bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. Beside him, the lump that’s stolen all the covers rolls over, sprouts an arm, flails around until a hand grabs Ian’s. Mira’s muffled voice emanates from the lump. “Bad dream?”

Ian gives her hand a squeeze, feeling a smile cross his own, familiar face. “The triangle again.”

Mira’s groan sounds as exasperated as Ian feels. “Again? What’d you turn it into this time?”

“T-rex chase,” Ian says, and the lump of covers bobs slightly as Mira nods. 

“Nice.” She considers for a moment, before giving Ian’s hand a pat. “Next time, try drowning it in bunnies.”

“I’ll give that a try.” Ian pushes what little of the covers Mira hasn’t stolen yet over onto her side of the bed, swings his legs over the side and hisses at the shock of cold on the bottoms of his bare feet when they touch the floor. “I’m gonna get something warm to drink. Want anything while I’m up?”

“Glass of water,” Mira mumbles, already turning back over, cocooning herself more tightly in the blankets. Ian pats her shoulder before padding off towards the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Anonymous asked: 3 sentence fic prompt: Ian's first time seeing Dipper on Yggdrasil**

It was late already by the time Ian made it back to the apartment; he’d had another meeting with S&P over the upcoming episode and its ‘glorification of reckless treatment of magical paraphernalia’ which had run on all afternoon, during which he’d tried (with little success) to persuade them that the reckless treatment of magical paraphernalia was a large part of Grauntie Carla’s character and the overall story arc would ultimately deal with the consequences. He was exhausted, frustrated, and ready to flop down on the couch beside his girlfriend and mercilessly mock some poor reality TV producer’s efforts.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t in the cards - the strange rumbling he’d been hearing as he turned his key in the lock turned into a frantic screech of ‘Alcor NO’ and a throaty growl as Ian tried to push the door open and a black and gold ball of shining claws and gnashing teeth slammed into it, yowling like a scalded cat and scrabbling desperately at the door as though trying to scratch through it to get at Ian; he pulled the door the rest of the way shut and locked it behind him, turning away and walking quickly back towards the elevator, already resigning himself to a long night at the studio.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an AU (of an AU, I know) based on Phillip Pullman's _The Golden Compass_ , where all of the characters' souls are expressed in the form of animal familiars, or daemons. For those unfamiliar with the series, daemons can usually shift shape in childhood, but settle into one constant form by adulthood.

They settle late. Ian’s already fourteen, already old enough to understand what love is, what loss is. Bob (no one calls her by her full name, not when Ian doesn’t) ends up small and soft, pink and sweet and smiling, with stubby soft fingers and bright frills, nothing at all like the ball of spikes Ian feels like he’s swallowed.

It’s just over ten years later when she settles again - ten, eleven years and a bullet in the shoulder and a circle that shreds them to bits, turns them inside out, turns her into something Ian wouldn’t have recognised if he’d even been able to recognise himself -

She’s unsettled when he wakes up in a hospital bed with darkness where his right eye should be, soft and warm with fur like if kittens and dreams had a baby curled around his neck, fangs and spines and armoured scales when Rosa and her Queenie come calling, a fat warm armful when he and Mira finally get a chance to touch. 

It takes about a week for them to decide they can’t keep this up. It doesn’t…hurt, exactly, but adults aren’t meant to be unsettled like this, aren’t meant to shift and change like this. Sooner or later, they have to grit their teeth and let the chips fall.

Bob’s the ugliest ginger tabby when Ian wakes up with a ball of gold in his skull in place of an eye. She’s one-eyed to mirror him, missing a chunk of an ear and patches of fur where the lines of scar tissue rope across her belly and her back. And the ugliest ginger tabby she stays, dream-soft despite her mangy appearance, her needle fangs and claws staying hidden under soft pink toes and a smile. The ugliest ginger tabby she stays, ordinary, unassuming, a little smug. Settled.

(They both know - they both can’t stop knowing - that she doesn’t have to be.)


	4. Chapter 4

“I knew this was a mistake.”

Mira stepped carefully over Ian where he lay flat on his back in the middle of the living room floor. “What career-ending, life-ruining, this-time-I-really-mean-it-Mira-we’re-going-to-have-to-go-live-in-a-subway-station-and-eat-pigeon-poop-to-survive mistake have you made this time?”

Ian didn’t even raise his head from the floor to glare at her. “I made him pretty. They’ve only seen his face for a couple of seconds and they’re already losing their minds! I can’t turn him into a speaking character like this! Let alone the main antagonist! What horror have I wrought? What have I done to my poor, poor show?”

“Back up,” Mira said, settling herself on the couch. “You haven’t told me which tragic creature you’ve cursed with beauty yet.”

Ian threw an arm up to cover his eyes. “ _Bael_.”

Mira winced in sympathy. “Ooh. Yeah. I did try to warn you.”

“And I didn’t listen,” Ian groaned, from the floor, like a ghost from some pre-Transcendence drama, heavy with regret and the full weight of responsibility. “I - didn’t - _listen_.” Each word was punctuated by a smack of the flat of his hand against the floor. “And now it’s too late.”

Mira prodded the sole of his foot with her toe, but Ian didn’t move. 

“Is it, though?”

Ian still didn’t move, but he went still in a way that made Mira think he was listening. “I mean, you said you’ve only shown a couple seconds of his face.”

Ian sat bolt upright. “You’re right.” Mira was pretty sure she could feel her heart swell in her chest at the pure, evil delight in her boyfriend’s words. “He still needs a voice.”

“It’s gonna have to be bad, if he’s as pretty as you say.”

Ian nodded, a smile crooking across one cheek as he said, “Something annoying.”

“Nasal.”

“High-pitched.”

“And loud. Can’t forget loud.”

“Definitely not.” Ian laughed. “And insistently grating. Never letting up. Like…a pushy salesman on an edutisement. HEY KID, CHECK OUT THIS COOL SHINY THING! IT CAN BE YOURS TODAY FOR THE LOW, LOW PRICE OF YOUR SOUL!”

After a moment, Mira managed to eke out a hollow, edgy chuckle. “Yeeeaaaahhhh. That’s. That’s bad, all right.”

Ian’s crooked grin had twisted into a grimace, his upper lip curled into something halfway between horror and disgust, like a spider had just crawled out of his mouth midsentence.

When he looked up at Mira, the light caught the gold of his artificial eye, making it wink.

“Maybe not that one,” Mira said, with more cheer than she felt. “Okay. How about…annoying Texas twang?”

She could see the tension easing out of Ian’s shoulders. “Are you kidding? Rosa’d kill me. Or worse, write a revenge song.” He made a face, and flopped back onto the floor. “I’ll just have to think about it a little more.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Babe, can I get your help with something? I need this guy to go into this dark creepy basement so he can bring a horrible alien parasite out with him, but there’s no way he’d go in there, he’s too smart.”

Ian gnawed on the end of his pencil distractedly, looking over the storm of yellow sticky notes that covered the table in front of him. “What’s he care about? You hit even the smartest guy in the right spot emotionally and he’ll go tearing off in the stupidest directions!”

“Hmm.” Mira tapped one finger against the side of her tablet, slouching back in the armchair. “That kinda goes without saying, but I’m just not sure where to hit him. Everybody else is upstairs, nobody needs anything from the basement, it’s not like going down there is going to help anybody he cares about…”

“Then get him running scared. Convince him there’s some bigger threat upstairs. Guarantee you that’ll get him in that basement in record time." 

Mira stopped mid-tap. "Ooh, hadn’t thought of it like that. Thanks!”

“Anytime, starshine,” Ian said, running a hand through his hair as he stared down at the table.

“It is super unnerving to listen to you two talk about writing,” Dipper said, from his upside-down position near the ceiling. “And I’m saying that as a demon.”

Mira flashed a sunny smile in his direction. “Who says we’re talking about writing?”

“Not funny.”

“Come on, you think I’m hilarious.” When Dipper just crossed his arms and glowered, Mira slid down in the chair until she could stretch her foot out and poke Ian with her toe. “Fine, mister grumpy-pants. _You_ think I’m hilarious, right, babe?”

“An absolute side-splitter,” Ian agreed solemnly, his eyebrows furrowing before he started to pull sticky notes up off the table. “No, that doesn’t work, that’d never work - unless -”

He paused with a fistful of little yellow papers, and tilted his head back to face Dipper on the ceiling. “How many people’ve summoned you to ask you to bind another demon to their will?”

It took Dipper a solid moment to be sure his ears had heard what he thought they’d heard, and even then, he wasn’t sure the words could mean what he thought they meant. “What?”

Ian tipped his head a little further back, his chair wobbling precariously onto the back two legs. “Obviously you’d have to be really dumb or know absolutely nothing about history or both to try to bind Alcor the Dreambender himself, but somebody summoning you and making a deal with you to bind some lesser demon so it has to do the summoner’s bidding? How often does that happen? I just don’t want to be relying on a cliché.”

“…That happens never,” Dipper said, when he finally found his voice. He was relieved to notice that even Mira was giving Ian a bit of an odd look, though it did seem more impressed than concerned. “Never. That has not happened once.”

Ian really did frown this time, letting his chair flop back onto the linoleum and turning around to straddle the wooden slats making up its back and face Dipper. “Really? You’re telling me that in a thousand years, not one single person has figured out that if you want a demon slave, you should try summoning a more powerful demon - and one that cuts fair deals - and getting them to bind - you’re giving me the look again.”

“Because you’re doing the thing again!” Dipper tried, with limited success, not to look at Mira’s expression of barely-concealed mirth. “Look, I’ve managed to make it this far without accidentally causing all-out war in the mindscape. I don’t really want to start one over demons trying to sell each other out to idiot summoners because those idiot summoners got the bad idea to try to use demons against each other from a children’s cartoon. Would you please not make this a plot point?”

The smile that crossed Ian’s face was perfectly benign, almost beatific. “Sorry, but that’s not my problem. I’m not a demon.”

“I’m going to fill your closet with Styrofoam puffs,” Dipper promised.

“You try it and I’ll strangle you with your own intestines,” Mira said, conversationally. “Now. Both of you. What’s a good threat that’s scarier than horrible alien parasites?”


	6. Chapter 6

“So. Season two. Any ideas about how to start it off with a bang?”

There was a general shuffling of papers and buzz around the writers’ room table. Zelda, unsurprisingly, was the first to speak. “Well, the viewers are still losing it over Bael. I thought -”

“Just a moment,” Ian interrupted. “Do you guys think we can hold off on having Bael show up again until the finale?”

Around the table, the team exchanged looks.

“What, like…like a horror movie, kind of suspense build, sort of thing? Yeah dude, that makes sense,” Ricardo said, but he still sounded uncertain. “But - all the way to the finale? That seems like too long, man. Now he’s shown his hand, wouldn’t Bael be trying to kill Stella, like, constantly?”

Ian blinked. “What? Why would he be trying to kill her?”

The look Zelda shot him was one Ian knew she only turned in his direction when he was being particularly inscrutable or ridiculous. “We did just literally finish the season with him using Sam as a puppet to try to drop her down a bottomless pit.”

“Yeah, but Stella doesn’t know that’s Bael! We revealed him to the audience through Alcor, but she still doesn’t know he even exists. Why would he try to kill her? Think about his endgame, guys.”

The faces around the table were still blank. Ian met Zelda’s eyes, hoping for understanding from the writer who was practically his second brain, but she just gave her head a shake so small it barely disturbed her bubblegum-coloured hair.

“I thought his endgame  _was_  to kill her. And Alcor. And open the gateway to the Dungeon Dimension, and unleash his true power and wrath on the world, and finally get caught up with Political Intrigue: But With Dragons,” Chris piped up, and Ian pressed the heel of his hand against his right eye.

“Yes, but that’s what he wants you to - Do you remember how we decided the Dungeon Dimension had to be unlocked?”

“With Alcor’s power, yeah.” Zelda tapped her pen against her lip piercing. “That makes sense, that Bael would want to keep Stella alive to use her to persuade Alcor to open the gateway - but then the bottomless pit doesn’t -”

“Sheesh, you guys, are you all brain-dead today?” There was a dull pressure building against Ian’s prosthetic, not quite an ache yet but definitely threatening to become one, and he could swear he caught a whiff of ozone and…margaritas?

Ricardo made a face at Zelda, who sighed. “Sorry, boss, but whatever you were plotting really didn’t come across this time.”

“What? But -” Ian shook his head, blowing out a breath that was halfway to a laugh. “We were all on the same page setting up the season finale! We all knew where this was going, right? It’s  _obvious_.” It was, a series of simple, shining steps to world domination. They’d all brainstormed over Bael, talked his goals and motivation and personality to death - did they really not see - “Stella was never really going to fall in the bottomless pit. That was why Sam got to break through and save her, remember? It was just to show her how little Alcor really cared about her, that he could just let her fall!”

“But he does care about her,” Chris pointed out, and Ian could just strangle the guy with his own trachea, he _really_  could. “So that’s not going to -”

“It doesn’t matter if Alcor really cares about Stella or not! Jeez, were you paying any attention when we hashed out Bael or were you just taking a nap that day? All he cares about is whether Stella  _thinks_  Alcor cares about her.” Ian leaned forward expectantly, letting out a sigh when the confused faces didn’t instantly morph into looks of realisation. Zelda looked like she might be catching on, but Ian could almost see the wheels spinning uselessly in all of the others’ heads. “Look, fine, I’ll spell it out for you. Stella’s only in this because she thinks Alcor is a good guy, that he’s on her side. Alcor would do just about anything to keep Bael locked up and the world safe, Bael’s not an idiot, he’d know that after Alcor locked him up in the first place. He’s not going to pin all his plans on another demon, even a weirdo like Alcor, being enough of a stupid sap to let him out just so one puny human doesn’t bite it a couple years early.“

He paused for a moment, feeling a hollowness growing under his feet with every note Chris scribbled in his binder and every tap of Zelda’s pen against her lip ring. "But humans are a whole bunch more sentimental, and a lot more gullible. All Bael needs to do is convince Stella that Alcor’s using her, that she can’t trust he’s got her or humanity’s best interests at heart - and Alcor himself will help out with that, he’s not exactly the most forthcoming guy, and he’s been keeping some pretty big secrets - and Stella and her soft, tender little heart will go running straight for somebody she thinks she _can_ trust. Another human who she already loves, who understands what it’s like to be under a demon’s control - another human who’s  _still_  under a demon’s control, because no matter how powerful love might be or what it might be able to conquer, he still didn’t put a time limit on his contract with Bael. And because of her deal with Alcor -”

“Stella can use Alcor’s powers,” Ricardo said, looking like Ian had just pulled the tablecloth off a fully-set table without spilling a drop from any of the wineglasses.

“Wait, do you mean Sam didn’t actually get control back from Bael in the last episode?” Chris asked, and Ian reached for his coffee mug, only to find it missing. 

“Of course he did, but only because Bael let him. That’s why that line to Alcor about love not conquering all and the code about fine print! Didn’t you -” Ian cut himself off, hearing his own voice very quiet in the suddenly-stifling stillness of the meeting room. “It’s really obvious, isn’t it?”

“Obvious? No way, man!” Ricardo was grinning ear to ear, spinning his pen between his fingers. “Having Bael use Stella to set him free is an awesome idea! The hard part’s gonna be driving that wedge between Stella and Alcor naturally and hinting at Bael being involved so it doesn’t look like it came outta nowhere when the reveal hits, but doesn’t give the game away too soon… That’s evil genius at work, man.”

Ian managed a smile, but it refused to stay on his face for more than half a second.

“Yep. Coffee,” he managed, pushing his chair out from the table and giving it a nasty shove when it caught on the carpet and refused to move. “Keep talking.”

Zelda cornered him in the office kitchen, drumming his fingers rhythmically against the counter as he watched the coffeemaker drip erratically into the pot. “Are you…feeling all right?”

Ian stopped drumming. “Hm? Fine! Haven’t had my coffee yet! Eye’s kind of aching, but it does that sometimes! Yup, everything’s peachy, if this coffeepot would just  _hurry up_  -” He slammed a fist against the counter, and the coffeepot shook. “Evil genius. I’m -" 

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, uncurling the fingers of his fist. Zelda was giving him a look that was somewhere between weirded out and seriously alarmed, but there wasn’t a trace of pity or fear in it.

"I’m a jerk,” Ian said, instead of whatever had been running around his head. It took effort to cut the train off, but he managed it. “I should apologise to those guys. Not their fault I didn’t share enough of the plan. I gotta remember that even if this is my show, it’s not just  _my_  show.”

“Yeah,” Zelda agreed, reaching around Ian to grab the carafe and pouring herself a mug of the coffee that must have been brewed earlier that morning. She stirred in a spoonful of whitener, meeting and holding Ian’s gaze. “Look, is something going on? Because that didn’t seem like usual story frustration. And I mean we all know you want it to be perfect, but that sounds like a pretty solid plot to me, so I doubt it’s the problem.”

Ian glanced down at his hand splayed against the counter, then back up at Zelda. “You think? It’s not too obvious?”

Zelda shrugged. “Well, you stumped your own writers, so I think even your famously dedicated fans will have a little trouble with this one if we play it right. Seriously, boss, you gotta cut yourself some slack.” Her voice was heavy with admiration as she said, “I don’t know anybody else who would’ve come up with an idea that makes that much sense and is still such a challenge to figure out, right off the top of his head. It’ll be a really satisfying reveal if we build it up right and get all the pieces in place. We’ll work out how to make it amazing for the show.”

Ian blew out a breath. 

Zelda tapped her spoon against the lip of her mug to shake off a few drips of coffee before dropping the spoon into the sink. “So. You still wanna talk about it, or -”

“Absolutely no way,” Ian said, and watched relief wash over Zelda’s face. “No, I just needed to take a breather. Get some perspective. But thanks. And sorry for calling you all brain-dead.” He somehow managed a smile that didn’t seem forced or too tight. “You’re the best henchmen an evil genius could ask for.”

Zelda’s grin was bright and gleaming. “We do our best. Now come on, you’ve got a bunch of henchmen to apologise to. And we’ve got a secret evil plot to…plot.”


	7. Chapter 7

Her English is more heavily accented than Ian had expected, just based on how well she writes. Her smile is huge and genuine and the illustration she hands him is as lovingly rendered as any of the art she’s posted online. She’s really outdone herself on this one, Ian thinks, taking in the rich colours, the sense of scale, the details of every tiny figure, the carefully-inscribed letters of the code he’d created specifically for Mizar the Magnificent buried in the motion of the scene.

“This is going straight on our living room wall,” he says, through the enormous grin he can’t wipe from his face. “Oh, but - it’s missing something. Can I get this autographed by Mexico’s greatest up-and-coming animator?”

She laughs, and makes some comment about how without Mizar the Magnificent she’d never have been here in the first place - but she signs the illustration. And she accepts the enormous hug Ian gives her after she does.

…

Usually the studio tour is full of adults and the odd teenager, but this time there’s a boy who can’t be any older than five or six, in a tiny red flannel shirt, looking around him with wide, wondering eyes like everything he sees is an enchantment from another world. When Ian rises from his desk to greet the tour, the boy darts out from the group and flings both arms around Ian’s legs.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman Ian presumes is the boy’s mother apologises, looking like she just watched her child pull his pants down in public. “Ever since he saw that promo you did where you talked to that Alcor puppet, you’ve been all he can talk about.“ 

Ian looks down at the kid hanging, limpet-like, on his legs, and smiles.

“You know,” he says, “I think I might be able to persuade Alcor to come say hi, too. Or at least the Alcor from TV.”

The boy removes his face from Ian’s knees just long enough to look up at Ian with sparkling eyes, and nods once, in apparent awe.


	8. Chapter 8

From: Linda Silverbrook <linsil@ncesschools.org>

To: Ian Beale <bealei@orchestrion.com>

Subject: RE: Parent-teacher conference

> Dear Mr. Beale;
> 
> I would like to preface my statements herein by confirming that your daughter Lydia’s classwork remains above reproach, and she shows every sign of genuinely enjoying her coursework. However, I remain concerned about the extent to which she has been allowed to investigate subjects that are considered dangerous for grown, trained adults, let alone uninformed, dangerously suggestible youth. We restricted the occult section of the library to upper-year students in the pure academics stream for a reason, and a parental note will not be sufficient to allow her access. We do not believe this counts as ‘institutional censorship’, either, as we have not removed these materials from student access altogether, we have merely introduced academic requirements for access in order to limit the risk the children entrusted into our care are exposed to.
> 
> Also, I don’t see what the candle on my desk has to do with any of this. It was an end-of-year gift from a former student and it smells very nice.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Linda Silverbrook

From: Mira Ramachandran <m.ramachandran@bonc.com>

To: Ian Beale <bealei@orchestrion.com>

Subject: pick up Joy

> hey babe the preschool called, our little terror just threw up on an aide again and has to get picked up & i cant get away, would u go get her? &&give her the Talk about inducing vomiting with cleaning supplies again, 1 of these days shes gonna poison herself by accident & actually get sick. we gotta talk abt what we can do about these abandonment issues 2.
> 
> love u!!! cya after work!
> 
> <3<3<3<3<3<3<3

From: Harris Poolchek <poolchek@coalingadojo.com>

To: Ian Beale <bealei@orchestrion.com>

Subject: Fees

> Mr. Beale:
> 
> Your daughter Violet’s full payment for the trip to the tournament on the Isles is coming due in a week. Just a reminder that this fee includes bus ride and ferry trip to and from the Main Island, two nights’ accommodation and meals, and the tournament fees. We are all very impressed with your daughter’s skill in the martial arts and she has been an asset to this dojo, all rumours of magical involvement aside. If she doesn’t come to the tournament and help us crush the Tigers I will personally snap you in half like a practice board.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Poolchek
> 
> P.S. Please ask Violet’s godmother to refrain from attending matches. The riot last time cannot be repeated.


	9. Chapter 9

_from the journals of Janice Stromberg_

 

3010.07.27

Subject acquired: male, Class E, 5'11", 180 lbs, hazel eyes, red hair, apparent Anglo-Scandinavian genetic heritage, claims 51 years of age (appearance supports). Very ticklish. Would not (could not?) reveal if the court he was Changed from was Seelie or Unseelie. Will begin testing once subject fully processed.

To test:

\- horseshoes? old lore, investigate

\- cold iron

\- blood

\- milk

\- animals? cats especially

\- gold?

\- virgins????? (ask in IT)

Dinner: egg salad, frog juice. Note: frog juice ineffectual, does not actually make drinker instantly more desirable to princesses. Also had unpleasant aftertaste. Consider returning for refund. 

\- maybe frog juice will work as intended on subject?

Mother called. Talked 1hr 5min. Very concerned with state of feet & weather. Cat is off feed again & she has bought new more expensive food.

 

3010.07.30

Subject loses skin on contact with cold iron - burning smell & sizzling sound observed. Removal of skin on back reveals possible vestigial/hidden wing structure. Subject demonstrated extreme aversion to Christian religious symbols under uncontrolled conditions - had not considered this variable, myth is very old & mostly due to Christian conversion efforts to rewrite native myth - had not considered it having any validity.

To test:

\- effectiveness of non-Christian religious symbols

\- effectiveness of current 'alternative’ denomination symbols

Brown & co. overeager to start extraction; much more potential for info. to be gleaned while subject corporeal.

Subject did not noticeably react to frog juice.

Dinner: pasta primavera, Caesar salad, sparkling apple cider. Still cannot bring self to pretend to enjoy wine.

Mother called. Talked 1hr 22min. Cat has not eaten new expensive cat food. Suggested this may be because of mother’s habit of feeding cat scraps from her own plate. Mother protested she has eliminated this habit. Reminded her grapes are poisonous to cats anyway.

 

3010.08.10

Subject destroyed!!!!

Brown & co. demanded initiation of extraction against advice. Corporeal body intact; soul-matter destroyed; soul released. Time: approx. 15min. That man is a menace.

Dinner: spite and instant noodles

Mother called. Talked 5min. Cat ate her $40 salmon steak off her plate. Cat is now on diet.


End file.
